Gifts of Christmas Past
by MadBat27
Summary: Bat-mite narrates the tale of the time he gave Batman the greatest gift ever! - Xmas fic 8/25.


It was a daaark and stormy night, on the grim outskirts of Gotham City. The moon was high, throwing long shadows on the ground as two warriors faced off in the darkness. One, a merciless soldier for hire armed with a blade and a killer's instinct; the other, a playboy with pointy bat-things!

The wind whistled as the two adversaries stared each other down, neither giving up an inch as they circled, waiting for an opening. Their footsteps boomed in the deafening silence, the abandoned construction site empty of all other life. No witnesses, no help, no mercy!

Clouds ripped apart as lightning tore towards the ground, a starting signal for their bloody conflict. And then, as the warriors charged…

"Tah-dah!" cried the interdimensional being. "Bat-mite to the rescue!"

Yes, it was I, in all my glory. I hovered between them, radiant in blue cape and cowl, grey costume and super-warm thermals (there was a storm after all!) underneath. My yellow utility belt glimmered in the bright moonlight, as the two opponents skidded to a halt on either side of me.

"Not now, Bat-mite!" Batman growled.

He's always so grouchy. Even with his number one biggest fan! But I wasn't all that perturbed, because I had a gift for my Bat-buddy. One I knew he was going to like. He wouldn't be grouchy for long, no sirreee!

"What is this?"

"We haven't got time for a fight-scene. Just imagine there were lots of punches and kicks and it was all really awesome. And then you got away!"

I snapped my fingers and poof! He was gone. Well, not poof, really. There was no smoke. But in the blink of an eye, he was gone. Triumphant, I put my hands on my hips and struck a pose, awaiting Batman's flattering praise. I was already starting to blush.

"Bat-mite."

"No need to thank me, Batman. I was just doing my job: saving the day."

"You let Deathstroke escape!" Batman shouted. Really, I get no appreciation.

"Oh, that was Deathstroke?" I said, my posture sagging. I dropped to the ground and put my head in my hands. "I thought it was Killer Moth. Or Ambush Bug. I always get those guys mixed up."

"Where?" Batman demanded.

I stared at him, perplexed. Would it kill him to use his words? The problem with being the quiet type is that sometimes you have to elaborate for other people to know what you mean. That can be frustrating, y'know. I think it's one of the reasons Batman gets so grumpy. He doesn't like repeating himself. Of course, he wouldn't have to if he were a better communicator.

"Where did you send him?"

"Oh, I don't know," I answered sulkily. "Alaska, Antarctica. One of the two. I get those mixed up too."

Batman seemed to relax a little then. "Fine. But you need to leave. Now."

"So you're not mad at me?" I said, looking up. I couldn't really tell by his expression, but he wasn't shouting anymore. "Yay!"

I put my head back on and did a little cartwheel in the air. Then I threw some mini-fireworks like confetti and watched them pop and crackle around me. Batman was already stalking away, brooding as always.

"Go home, Bat-mite," he said without looking at me.

It hurt my feelings a little, but it must be hard being the greatest hero in all the universe. That's a big responsibility that must weigh heavy. I have enough trouble deciding what to have for breakfast. But then I remember my trusty Bat-flakes!

I zoomed ahead of him, forcing him to stop.

"I can't do that, Batman," I said, shaking my head emphatically. It made me a little dizzy. "I've got a surprise for you."

There was a slight, almost imperceptible tightening of the jaw, and his furrowed brow lowered just a little – you notice these things when you're somebody's biggest fan. I could almost hear the cogs turning in his head, trying to figure out how to get rid of me. But I had a mission, and not even Batman was going to stop me from completing it.

After all, it was for him.

"No, no, trust me. You're gonna like this one!"

Before he could argue, I clicked my fingers and poof – well, not poof but… oh you get the idea.

We reappeared back in the heart of Gotham, but things were a little different. It wasn't present day Gotham; it wasn't even the same Earth. This was a Gotham in which the Batman didn't exist. And it was beauuuutiful.

Modern skyscrapers had replaced the old Gothic architecture, with sweeping arches and leaning prisms, all glass and carbon fibre, reflecting the sunlight. No more spooky gargoyles, no more shadowy corner or dank alleys. But there was Wayne Enterprise, splendid in its brilliance.

"Where are we?" Batman asked.

Of course, I could hardly bring him in his nocturnal attire, so I'd taken the liberty of changing him into civilian attire – just call me Bat-butler. Who needs Alfred? I'd put him in a nice powder blue suit to match his sparkling eyes. Not his usual taste, but this was a special occasion.

"The same place we've always been. More or less." I whizzed ahead, beckoning him to follow. "Only in this world, Batman never existed. But nor did Joker or Killer Moth or a lot of the others. Mr. Freeze was cured, and Dr. Crane is still an upstanding citizen. A lot of things have been done differently in this timeline."

"It's all so…clean," Bruce marvelled. "The people are happy. Safe."

That they were! The public of vigilante-free Gotham enjoyed a perpetual state of civil peace that the real Gothamites knew only as a short reprieve. The prisons were all but empty, the skies free of police blimps, the streets free of rubble and crime scenes. Every face was lit by a smile. All except Bruce's, that is.

"What's with the frown?" I cried. "This was meant to be a happy gift."

"It is… I just…" Bruce sighed. "Am I to blame? Is Batman the cause for all the turmoil in my city?"

"Ohhh, you think you did something wrong. Forget the elevator. Top floor, going up!"

I snapped my fingers and transported us both instantly from the entrance to Wayne Tower, right into the C.E.O'S office. Don't worry, he knew I was coming. And by he, I mean Thomas Wayne. In this reality, he was a little older than when Bruce last saw him. About fifteen years, though only five were showing. An extra wrinkle at the eyes, a few more grey hairs at the temple and in his moustache – which was glorious by the way! But otherwise, the same man our Bruce remembered.

Behind the C.E.O, Martha Wayne stood with her hands on her husband's shoulders, smiling brightly. Around her neck, she wore a string of pearls. Aww, what a beautiful scene!

"Mom, Dad," Bruce gasped, tears welling in his eyes.

Who knew the Batman could cry? And real tears too. I always expected coal, or oil, or blood. Maybe that's a little evil. But not tears. Not normal, everyday person salt water. That's just so… human. And yet, it wasn't a disappointment. I think I saw a side of Batman that very few people ever get to see. Got the selfies to prove it too.

"Hello, son," his father replied. Martha merely smiled.

"Don't worry, I told them all they need to know about you and your secret."

Bruce's mouth snapped shut and he stared at the floor. "I see."

He walked slowly toward the large window that covered an entire wall of the office. Moodily, he stared out at the city beyond. It was a view to rival Metropolis. In his head, I'm sure, he thought of the dark foreboding silhouette of the Gotham he patrolled.

"You must be disappointed."

"Disappointed? No," Martha exclaimed, coming to stand by her son-from-another-universe's side. "Why would you think that?"

"Look at this city. It's a far cry from the nightmare I've made my home."

Thomas stood and joined his family. He put a comforting hand on his son's shoulder. It was really touching! I think I might have cried.

"I suppose Bat-mite told you that your so-called Rogues don't exist here," Thomas said. "But that doesn't mean everything is ideal. When we were attacked that night, in this universe, we escaped unharmed. But our Bruce never forgot the fear he felt. Like you, he dedicated his life to preventing others from feeling as helpless as he did that night. Unlike you, he used more conventional methods. He invested heavily in the GCPD, in renovations of deprived areas, and in surveillance."

"He worked within the parameters of the law to prevent crime, rather than tackling it the way you do," Martha added.

"So I made a mistake. I should have concentrated on prevention, instead of catering to my own need for reprisal."

"Both approaches have their merits, son," Thomas assured him. "In this reality, the anger and grief was absent. You didn't need to channel it through first-hand encounters with the criminal element. Your reaction, your crusade, is understandable. I won't pretend I approve, but I am not disappointed."

"You've made a hero of yourself. And an example." Martha put a hand against his cheek and stared lovingly into his eyes. "That's more than any parent can hope."

I blew my nose loudly on a hanky and wiped the tears from my eyes. Which somehow seemed to remind Thomas what he'd be meaning to do. After all, it was important. Mr. Wayne Sr. marched to his desk and pressed a button on the corner. There was a small photo frame nearby with a picture of the Waynes altogether at his graduation.

With a click, the oak panelling across from the desk slid open to reveal a wide-screen television, which blinked into life a moment later. The picture was, as always on this particular channel, a message from our President. It was on repeat, giving hope to the masses. Light glinted off the shiny head of Lex Luthor.

Bruce's eyes widened, and Martha looked sad.

"For all the good we have done, surveillance and investment could never amount to the same service you provide as the Batman," Thomas said gruffly. "For all its appearances, Gotham is no more a haven now than it was when you were young. Street-level crime has been all but eradicated, but white collar crime is higher than ever. Ponzi schemes, conspiracies, breaches of Human Rights, all a daily occurrence. Social mobility is at its lowest and the gulf between rich and poor is insurmountable. It was the surreptitious threats in the end, the insidious criminal enterprises that brought this country to its knees, while hiding behind a veneer of aesthetic beauty. Refurbishment to hide corruption."

Thomas slumped back into his seat, the leather squelching. His fists were clenched and his brow furrowed – obviously brooding is from Daddy's side of the family! He shook his head, as if in disbelief. Martha continued where he'd left off.

"It wasn't the crimes that could be fought by the likes of Superman and the Flash, but the plots and cover-ups. Things that required a Detective. The Question did what he could, but he was a conspiracy theorist. Nobody took him seriously. Martian Manhunter did his part but as an alien, his credibility was low."

"They're right," I chimed in. "Joker may not have been here to spread chaos, but Maxie Zeus and Cobblepot were always smart enough to stay concealed from police. They needed someone who could go places the cops couldn't, but no Batman meant no vigilantes."

"By the time our Bruce saw what was happening, it was too late. Lex Luthor was poised to lead the country. Now…" Martha's voice caught in her throat. "Now, our son is a political prisoner in Arkham."

Bruce was his usual stoic self, but inside I bet he was reeling. Thoughts racing, stomach churning, teeth gritting, the usual responses to something shocking, plus a bit of Bat-patented righteous fury. Being Batman's biggest fan gives me little insights like this, you see.

"Dick Grayson is in prison, too, along with most of your allies in the costumed crime-fighting business," I added. "Jim Gordon and Montoya were transferred for asking too many questions. Bullock does the best he can without stepping on anyone's toes, which might as well be doing nothing. See? The Batman is irreplaceable!"

"What can I do to help?"

Thomas smiled. "Nothing, Bruce. You have your own city to protect. This mess is ours to clean up. Maybe we'll take our cues from your efforts. And maybe you can take back some lessons from ours."

The two Waynes shook hands, before hugging each other as hard as they dared. I thought they'd got stuck like that for a moment. Another heart-warming scene, though, wouldn't you agree? When they finally pulled apart, Bruce hugged his mother.

"We're proud of you, Bruce. Don't forget that," Martha told him. "And don't sacrifice your own happiness."

"Okay, time to go, Bruce," I said. It broke my heart to have to say it. "Maybe we can come back next year, see how it all pans out."

"I'd like that," Bruce said, letting go.

I clicked my fingers and hey presto, we were back in our Gotham. We stood in front of the large portrait of the Waynes back at the Manor. Bruce stared up at it solemnly, and I realized he might want some time alone.

"Merry Christmas, Bruce."

And then, you know, poof!


End file.
